I used to think that being middle-aged was the time of life when a person
became UNCOOL. Now that I am middle-aged I have become self-aware enough to
know that I never was cool.
I used to worry about my couch clashing with my carpet, my dining room set
being out-of-date, my light fixtures being brass instead of brushed nickel…and
then I got rid of cable and stopped watching those friggin’ home improvement
shows. Now I draw the line at having to duct-tape my furniture. Otherwise, I
don’t care. If my friends think less of me for my popcorn ceilings, I don’t
need them as friends. I’m so much happier now. I’m healthier too, because I
don’t really care how ugly that recumbent bike is parked in the middle of my
living room. I’d rather use it and live longer in my unfashionable house than
die of a heart attack in my vogue abode.
I used to worry that people might talk about me behind my back. Now I
realize how pathetic a person would have to be to need to gossip about me. I’m
just not that interesting.
I used to keep my house clean, and then I had children. Enough said.
I used to want to meet famous actors. Now I want to meet the people who
write their lines. I’m guessing I’d be a lot less disappointed.
I used to think the world was my oyster. What’s that metaphor supposed to
mean, the world’s just going to hand you a pearl? I now realize oysters are
slimy and they stink. If you want pearls, you have to go out and make your
own.
Growing up in the eighties, success seemed to be defined as having some sort
of corporate career, working your way up the food-chain, eventually bringing in
lots of money. Wouldn’t you have to eat other people to move up in a
food-chain? Finding a job you enjoy and being able to pay the bills while doing
so seems more like success to me nowadays. Personally, I’d love to find a job
that didn’t feel like a cage.
I used to take myself seriously. Now I think being serious is stressful, and
I don’t need the worry lines.
I used to think I knew it all, and now I can’t remember if I did or
not.
became UNCOOL. Now that I am middle-aged I have become self-aware enough to
know that I never was cool.
I used to worry about my couch clashing with my carpet, my dining room set
being out-of-date, my light fixtures being brass instead of brushed nickel…and
then I got rid of cable and stopped watching those friggin’ home improvement
shows. Now I draw the line at having to duct-tape my furniture. Otherwise, I
don’t care. If my friends think less of me for my popcorn ceilings, I don’t
need them as friends. I’m so much happier now. I’m healthier too, because I
don’t really care how ugly that recumbent bike is parked in the middle of my
living room. I’d rather use it and live longer in my unfashionable house than
die of a heart attack in my vogue abode.
I used to worry that people might talk about me behind my back. Now I
realize how pathetic a person would have to be to need to gossip about me. I’m
just not that interesting.
I used to keep my house clean, and then I had children. Enough said.
I used to want to meet famous actors. Now I want to meet the people who
write their lines. I’m guessing I’d be a lot less disappointed.
I used to think the world was my oyster. What’s that metaphor supposed to
mean, the world’s just going to hand you a pearl? I now realize oysters are
slimy and they stink. If you want pearls, you have to go out and make your
own.
Growing up in the eighties, success seemed to be defined as having some sort
of corporate career, working your way up the food-chain, eventually bringing in
lots of money. Wouldn’t you have to eat other people to move up in a
food-chain? Finding a job you enjoy and being able to pay the bills while doing
so seems more like success to me nowadays. Personally, I’d love to find a job
that didn’t feel like a cage.
I used to take myself seriously. Now I think being serious is stressful, and
I don’t need the worry lines.
I used to think I knew it all, and now I can’t remember if I did or
not.
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